American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

Do you think he'll say it?

“He will,” Lynn said. “Professional assassins all have one weakness—they ultimately only belong to themselves. Once they realize their employer won’t save them, they’ll make a deal.”

“Then let’s put some pressure on him,” Sarah said. “The federal prosecution of an attack agent is severe; he faces life imprisonment. If he cooperates, we can talk about a reduced sentence.”

“Yes,” Lynn nodded, “but don’t rush him. Let him stay in the cell overnight and think things through. We’ll interrogate him again tomorrow.”

The next morning, Lynn sat in the interrogation room, facing Cruz. The assassin looked exhausted; not having slept all night had clearly affected his mental state. Moreover, his enhancement drug hadn't been replenished for over 48 hours, and its effects were beginning to wear off; he was experiencing withdrawal symptoms—sweating, trembling, and anxiety.

“It’s not a pleasant experience,” Lynn said. “It’s a side effect of the enhancer. Without regular injections, you’ll become increasingly weak, and eventually, your organs may fail.”

Cruz didn't answer, he just stared at the table.

“We can provide you with medical care,” Lynn continued, “to make sure you don’t die from withdrawal. But in exchange, I need information.”

"What information?" Cruz's voice was hoarse.

“Who hired you to kill me?” Lynn asked directly. “Don’t talk about professional ethics. Your employer isn’t coming to your rescue, you know that. Your only hope now is a reduced sentence.”

Cruz remained silent for a long time, then finally sighed, "Not Graystone Capital."

This answer surprised Lynn. "Who is that?"

“A middleman, I don’t know his real name, everyone calls him ‘the agent,’” Cruz said. “He specializes in arranging hitmen for high-end clients. I got this job through him.”

"How much is the compensation?"

“Five hundred thousand dollars,” Cruz said. “Half upfront, half upon completion of the mission.”

“That means your employer is very wealthy,” Lynn analyzed. “How did your ‘agent’ contact you?”

“Encrypted communication software,” Cruz said. “We never meet.”

"Then how will you collect the money?"

“Bitcoin, transferred to the anonymous wallet,” Cruz said. “The first payment of 250,000 has arrived.”

“We can trace that Bitcoin account,” Lynn said. “While blockchain technology is anonymous, it’s not untraceable.”

“Perhaps,” Cruz shrugged, “but the ‘broker’ is clever; he’ll use coin mixing services to make tracking extremely difficult.”

“What do you know about the employer?” Lynn asked. “Did the ‘agent’ reveal any details?”

Cruz thought for a moment. "He said the employer was a big shot, very powerful. The mission wasn't just to kill you, but to make it look like an accident or ordinary street violence, so it wouldn't be linked to any specific case."

“This shows that the employer is worried that direct contact would expose their identity,” Lynn said, “and it also suggests that this person is connected to my recent case.”

“Maybe,” Cruz said, “but I really don’t know any more.”

"So, can you help us find this 'agent'?"

Cruz hesitated. "He's hard to find. And I'm not safe in prison if he knows I betrayed him."

“We will protect you,” Lynn assured him, “in a special isolation facility, where no one can touch you.”

Cruz considered it for a long time before finally nodding. "Okay. But I want the full commutation agreement, in writing."

“I’ll arrange it,” Lynn said.

Over the next few days, with Cruz's help, the FBI's technical department began tracking the "broker." This mysterious middleman was extremely cautious, using multiple layers of encryption and anonymity. But the communication records provided by Cruz became the breakthrough.

The technical experts worked day and night, analyzing data streams and tracing servers, slowly peeling back the layers of mystery. A week later, they finally made a discovery.

“Lynn, we’ve found him,” the head of the technology department reported excitedly. “The ‘broker’ is actually Richard Stone, 52 years old, ostensibly the CEO of an investment consulting firm, but in reality running an underground network of hired assassins.”

Where is he?

“We’ve confirmed his address and office on the Upper East Side of New York,” the supervisor said. “And we’ve traced the source of the payments.”

"Who is it?" Lynn's heart raced.

"The transfers went through multiple intermediaries, but ultimately originated from an offshore account," the supervisor stated, pulling up the data. "The actual controller of the account is Thomas Sinclair."

Lynn was stunned. "The plant manager of Hudson Steel?"

“Yes,” the supervisor confirmed, “Robert Sinclair’s brother.”

Everything suddenly became clear. Robert Sinclair was the factory manager, and his brother Thomas likely had a role in, or at least knew about, the Graystone Capital conspiracy. After Lynn arrested Victor Gray and all those involved, Thomas realized the FBI might continue digging and eventually uncover more secrets.

So he hired Cruz in an attempt to eliminate the biggest threat—Lynn Hall.

"Issue arrest warrants immediately," Lynn ordered. "Thomas Sinclair and Richard Stone, arrest them simultaneously. Give them no time to prepare."

That afternoon, two teams of FBI agents acted separately. One team arrested Richard Stone, who was in his office, and found a large amount of criminal evidence on his computer—not only records of hiring Cruz, but also dozens of hit-and-run missions arranged over the past decade.

Another team found him at Thomas Sinclair's mansion. The businessman, in his fifties, initially tried to deny everything, but his defenses crumbled when Lynn showed him bank transfer records, communications with Stone, and Cruz's testimony.

“It’s all to protect my brother,” Thomas finally admitted. “Robert didn’t know the full plan of Greystone Capital; he was just a tool. But if you investigate further, you’ll find that he also took money and did some…not-so-clean things. I can’t let him go to jail.”

“So you decided to hire someone to kill me?” Lynn said coldly. “You think this will protect your brother?” “I thought if you weren’t here, the case might stall,” Thomas said. “Others might not be as persistent as you.”

“You’re wrong,” Lynn said. “The FBI won’t stop its investigation just because one agent has fallen. All you’ve done is add to your charges of attempted murder and obstruction of justice.”

Thomas lowered his head, realizing he had made a fatal mistake.

A month later, all those involved were formally charged. Victor Gray, Robert Carlson, and Mark Darwin were sentenced to long sentences for conspiracy and corporate crime. Thomas Sinclair was sentenced to twenty years in prison for hiring a hitman to attack federal agents. Richard Stone faced multiple charges for operating a hitman network and could face life imprisonment. Victor Cruz's sentence was reduced from life imprisonment to twenty-five years for cooperating with the investigation.

Lynn stood on the steps outside the courthouse, watching the sunset paint the sky red. His rib injury had mostly healed; although it still caused occasional pain, it no longer affected his daily activities.

Sarah walked over to him. "It's over."

“Yes,” Lynn said, “it was a long case, but justice was ultimately served.”

“You know,” Sarah said, “I was really worried when Cruz attacked you.”

“I was worried,” Lynn admitted, “but I couldn’t give up. Some things are worth the risk.”

"Could you not push yourself so hard next time?" Sarah said half-jokingly.

“I try,” Lynn smiled, “but you know, that’s the nature of this job.”

Two weeks later, on a Monday morning, Lynn had just walked into his office when Johnson's secretary told him to go to the supervisor's office immediately. Such an urgent summons usually meant there was an important case.

Lynn carried coffee into Jason's office. The supervisor was standing by the window, looking at the city view, his back to the door. Hearing footsteps, he turned around.

“Lynn, sit down,” Jason gestured for him to sit, then handed him a thick folder. “There’s a new case that needs your attention.”

Lynn opened the folder; the first page contained a briefing marked "Confidential." The title read: "Strange Attack on St. Lawrence Island, Alaska."

“St. Lawrence Island?” Lynn frowned. “Where is that?”

“The Bering Sea, near the west coast of Alaska, close to the Arctic Circle,” Jason said, walking to a map on the wall and pointing to a tiny, almost invisible dot. “It’s a very remote island with a population of about 1,500, mainly Yupik Native Americans. The largest settlement on the island is called Campbell Village.”

Lynn continued flipping through the documents. There were photos—photos of the victims. What he saw made him gasp. The photos showed severe lacerations, deep claw marks extending from the shoulders to the waist, some wounds so deep you could see the bone.

“What caused all this?” Lynn asked.

“That’s the problem, we don’t know,” Jason said. “There have been seven attacks on the island in the last three months. The victims all described similar events—being attacked suddenly by something while outdoors. The attack was extremely fast and powerful, and then the attacker disappeared.”

"Did no one see the attacker clearly?"

“No,” Jason shook his head. “All the victims said the attacks happened too quickly, and most of them occurred at dusk or night. Some said they saw a huge shadow, some said they heard something like a roar, but no one could provide a clear description.”

Lynn continued reading the documents. "Are there any deaths?"

“No, but two victims were seriously injured and nearly died,” Jason said. “Local medical facilities are limited, and the seriously injured have been airlifted to Anchorage for treatment.”

"What did the local police say?"

“The village of Campbell only has two tribal police officers, which is simply not enough to handle this situation,” Jason said. “They requested assistance from the Alaska State Police, who sent a team to investigate, but to no avail. Then the governor’s office sought federal assistance.”

“Why would the FBI take this?” Lynn asked. “This sounds more like a wildlife attack case, which should be handled by the Fish and Wildlife Service.”

“That’s what we initially thought too,” Jason said, “but a few things make this case unusual. First, the pattern of the wounds. Forensic examination concluded that while the wounds looked like animal scratches, their depth and distribution didn’t match any known Arctic animal—not a polar bear, not a wolf, not any other wild animal.”

Lynn examined the close-up photo of the wounds closely. Indeed, the claw marks were too neat and the spacing too even, unlike the irregular wounds caused by a wild animal struggling.

“Second,” Jason continued, “all the attacks occurred near villages, not in the wilderness. The attackers seem to have deliberately chosen to approach human settlements, which is very unusual for wildlife.”

“Third,” Jason produced another document, “we found this at one of the attack sites.”

It was a photograph showing footprints in the snow. Lynn looked closer; the footprint was large, but its shape was strange—it resembled both a human footprint and some kind of claw, with particularly long toes and obvious claw marks.

“This footprint is about fourteen inches long,” Jason said. “The average human foot is ten to twelve inches long. And the depth of the indentation suggests that the creature that left this footprint weighed at least three hundred pounds.”

"So you think this is a mutant?" Lynn asked.

“That’s the most reasonable explanation,” Jason said. “It could be some kind of mutant with bestial abilities, or a mutant whose body has undergone a mutation. You have experience handling mutant cases, and your intuition and observation skills are invaluable in these kinds of cases.”

Lynn put down the documents. "When do we leave?"

“The sooner the better,” Jason said. “The local residents are already panicked; some families are even considering leaving the island. And as winter approaches, the investigation will become even more difficult. Arctic winters are extremely harsh.”

Do I need a team?

“You can bring one person,” Jason said, “but not too many. Accommodation in Campbell is limited, and we don’t want to cause undue panic. One or two FBI agents is a routine investigation, but sending a whole team will make the locals think the situation is extremely serious.”

“I’ll take Sarah,” Lynn decided immediately.

“Okay,” Jason nodded. “You’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning. I’ve already arranged transportation—flying to Anchorage, then transferring to a small plane to the island. The local tribal council will provide accommodation and assistance.”

"Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

“Yes,” Jason said, his expression turning serious. “It’s a very isolated community with its own traditions and culture. You need to respect local customs and maintain good relations with the tribal leaders. And Lynn…”

He paused for a moment. “There are some local legends about ‘Yeti’ or ‘Ice Demon,’ which are part of the Yupik culture. Don’t dismiss these legends lightly; they may contain some truth.” (End of Chapter)